Who Am I?
by xoxomikeybearxo
Summary: 18 year old Deenie was put down all her life, and told that girls can do anything as good as boys, even in her best sport, basketball. She despises all boys. Will she find the man of her dreams to prove to her that not all men are so bad? Review please!
1. Introduction to the Story

**Who Am I?**

18 year old Deenie has been shunned away all her life. Since she could remember clearly, she's been told women have no right to anything and aren't as good as men. Her father imprinted those thoughts in her head along with on her skin. At the tender age of 5, her father began to let off on his medication and started beating her. They still fight to this day, but she can fight back a little better. To relieve her stress, Deenie plays basketball. However, she must disguise herself as a boy in order to play because regardless of how talented they are, girls are still looked down upon. Especially in sports. The many men who play a significant role in her life have proven to her that men are horrible creatures and she's not about to change that idea.. Or is she? Will Deenie find the man of her dreams in the one person she would never expect? Read more to find out in Who Am I?


	2. An Unfortunate Day in the Life of Me

**Chapter One: An Unfortunate Day in the Life of Me**

I sighed, the light began shining through my useless orange curtains. The rain continued pelting lightly against my window as the sun rose higher and higher above the horizon. Damn sun, why must you wake me up every morning? I slid my feet over the edge of the bed to touch the cold hardwood floor, shivering at contact, and managed to get out of bed without stumbling over anything.  
Slowly, I put on my navy blue penguin slippers, chewed up curtosy of my beagle Nike. I walked over to the calendar and ran my finger swiftly down the dates until I found Sunday. Ah! How could I forget?! Today's the final game of my college basketball team and I haven't shot a hoop in nearly three days! Hastily, I scrambled to my closet and threw out what resembled clothes, and changed out of my pajamas. I had ripped and worn out used-to-be-skinny jeans, a sports bra, one of my thousands of baggy shirts, and my mismatching, beaten up, teal blue and pale red converse.  
I slid down the stairs on the railing and ran to the garage for my basketball. It used to be orange, but now it's more like dark brown with a hint of khaki in certain especially worn down places. I grabbed it and ran out the open garage door to practice. I dribbled a few times, and shot. Yes! Made it. I dribbled again, stepped farther from the hoop, and shot. The ball bounced and spun on the rim, then fell in. I practiced for what seemed like 3 or 4 minutes before dad came out, inhaling deeply to start yelling.  
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE?! THE FINAL GAME IS TODAY AND YOU'RE JUST OUT HERE GOOFING AROUND!!" He yelled loudly for all the neighborhood to hear.  
"What does it look like I'm doing? Basketball. For the game, which yes, is today. Congrats on remembering." I replied in a smart elic tone.  
"DON'T TALK TO ME LIKE I'M STUPID!!"  
"Why not? Am I supposed to talk to you as if you were smart?" I ask, grinning.  
"WHAT!? YES YOU ARE. AND WIPE THAT STUPID SMILE OF YOUR FACE BEFORE I BEAT YOUR ASS!" He screamed, walking closer to me. I stepped back, bracing myself with the basketball in hand.  
"Go ahead, I dare you." I say just before he slaps me hard across the face. It started throbbing and stinging.  
"You hit me again and I'll kick you so hard in the **** you'll piss sideways!" I yelled, burning with anger.  
He tries to sucker punch me and I dodge, only to be smacked again, on the same side he hit me the first time. The wound felt raw, starting to burn and tingle unpleasantly. I threw my ball at his face and balled my fists, ready to fight him. I hadn't fought with my father like this for almost a whole week. Yeah, that's considered a lot for us. I thought we were finally getting somewhere, I was wrong. Clearly.  
"Stupid bastard! THAT ****ING HURT!" I shout, kicking him right between his legs, spinning to kick him in the stomach with my other foot, then punching him right in the nose. Blood started dripping from his nostrils and I smirked. Who's getting their ass beaten now?  
"You little bitch, you're gonna wish you didn't do that!" He half-yells, holding his nose.  
"What are you gonna do? Bleed on me?"  
"I'm going to beat the **** out of you after the game!"  
"Why not now? You've already got it started with this big ass mark on my cheek."  
"You can't play basketball if I beat you up. Dumbass."  
"Oh really? If you beat me up? Does this consist of me kicking your ass and you telling me you'll get me?" I ask, smiling.  
"YOU DIDN'T DO **** TO ME!" He yells, kicking me square in the gut.  
I cough uncontrolably, falling down to my knees. That son of a bitch kicks hard like a horse. It most hurts because one it's right in my stomach and two because he's so damn huge. Huge refering mostly to the fat that hangs off him like flubber. I feel warm liquid coming up my throat, and cover my mouth my with hands. Blood again. I spit it out on the pavement. Practically vomiting blood, I manage to stand up to look my father in the eyes. I closed my mouth so the blood can gather, then spat right between his eyes. Then, trying my best not to limp, I walked back inside.  
Does this seem wrong or is it just me? Yeah. My dad does something like this to me every time he forgets to take his medicine. Which is pretty much every other day. He's a total bitch about everything. It's been this way since my grandpo died. Grandpo is my mom's dad, and since he died it's like she lost all her emotions other than pity and sadness. She sees dad beat me and all she can say is "Please stop." or "You're going to kill her." and she just stands back and watch. He's been beating me since I joined competitive sports. I used to be into soccer, but then dad told me more people get into basketball and forced me to switch. Every time I missed a shot during a practice game at home he'd hit me with whatever was around. If there wasn't anything, he'd use his bare hands. I usually ran away or took off my shoe and threw it at him. Sometimes I was daring enough to smack him or kick him back. This has been going on since I was about 5 or 6 years old. Now that I'm older, I can fight back effectively, but he's still bigger than me. So I usually sustain as many injuries as he does, if not more.  
I ran up the stairs to my room, slammed my door, and stumbled to my bathroom, closing the door behind me. I looked in the mirror, my blonde hair is tipped in my blood from when I was spewing it out. I sighed loudly in frustration. I wouldn't get any of this if I could keep my mouth shut. I do have a mouth on me, and gets me into some serious ****. I brushed my teeth and tongue, rinsing twice to get all the blood out. I smiled in the mirror to check my teeth. Didn't miss a spot. I grinned to myself. Turning the warm water on, I grabbed a towel, dampened it with the tap and patted my face lightly with it. The wound on my cheek was a little pinky, but it wasn't stinging anymore. He slapped me hard, but not hard enough to leave a real mark unlike usual. I glanced at the clock- 2PM. The game was at 3:30PM, and I can't wait. Basketball is like my escape. I feel most comfortable on the court. Nobody cares about anything, they're just there to watch you win. And that's what I'm there for. To win.  
I brushed my hair out as well as I could and put it up in a tiny ponytail. I cut my hair just a few days ago. It used to cascade down my back and shoulders, but it was getting harder and harder to put into my hat so I just chopped it all off. Yeah I know it sounds dumb but in basketball and pretty much all sports, girls are looked down on. So I've always put a hat on, hidden my hair in my hat and my face with my long bangs. Nobody really notices that I'm a girl, since I'm only a B-cup, wear baggy shirts that go over my waist, and loose pants. I just say I'm short and they don't ask me any more about my figure. I pass for a boy pretty nicely, I must say. I don't own any dresses, skirts, jewelery, or anything remotely girly. Except lipbalm.. It tastes good and it stops your lips from getting chapped. Two in one.  
I took my hat off the counter, shoved my hair into it, and pulled my bangs over my face. Now I was me. Smothering my lips in lip balm, I opened the door to consult the man I cringe to call my father.


	3. All Fun and Games Until?

**Chapter Two: All Fun and Games Until..?**

I walked into the room where he was waiting. As he turned to face me, my expressionless face quickly faded to a scowl. All I had to do was tell him to drive me to the game, nothing more.  
"Dad." I say, narrowing my eyes at him.  
"What?"  
"If you don't drive me to the game now, we're going to be late."  
"A'aight then. Get in the car, I'll get the keys."  
I quietly left the room, glad to be relieved of such tension. The aura of the room was too intense. I opened the garage door, and hopped in the car. I stared down the door waiting for dad to come out. He slowly did, practically slamming the door behind him, and get in the car too. When he sat down the car bounced a little. He looked at me from the rear view mirror and grunted. He buckled his seatbelt, and I got the drift, buckling my seatbelt soon after. The drive to the game was completely silent, and since neither my father or I really knew much about the radio, there weren't any songs playing either. Just silence.  
I practically flew out of the car once we got there, I couldn't handle the silence any longer! I screamed into my hands, just to relieve myself of whatever pressure was building up, and ran into the gym where the game is being held. I approached my teammates and waved at a few of the people in the crowd I recognized.  
"Hey man, you're later than usual, what happened?" One of the guys asked.  
"Ugh, it was nothing." I reply, glancing hatefully over to my father then turning back to everyone.  
"Hey, what's that mark on your face from?" Another asked.  
"You know what I'll just answer all your questions, my dad and I got in a fight again." I grunted.  
"Oh.." They both sighed. I sighed with them, it's getting ridiculous.  
"Hey man, let's just put this ish behind us, and focus on the game." I say, trying to get my concentration where it was supposed to be. Everyone else nodded. We talked about the starting positions, where everyone was, and who was on the bench first. Of course the same kid, Dalton Raenolds, was on the bench. He's ALWAYS on the bench. Why? He sucks. That's why.  
Finally the game started, in within the first 36 seconds, I made a shot. Two minutes, two shots. Six minutes three shots. I was on fire today, and finally we got to the break and I was sweaty and overheated but I was loving this. I've never been so good after a fight with my father, actually.. I don't think I've ever been this good. I've made 7 of the 9 shots on my team. My teammates highfived me on my way to chill on the bench. Someone bumped into me as I was about to sit down and I stumbled a little. Angered, I turn around about ready to yell 'Watch where you're going, stupid!' when I see it's the coach.  
"Sorry 'bout that. I was tripping over my own excitement." He says to me, grinning.  
"Okay who are you and what have you done with my coach?" I ask, giving him a strange look.  
"These are the finals, and I just FINALLY got the damn letter for what the prize is going to be this year. Last year it was a trip to Las Vegas for 2 days, but what sucked about that was almost everyone on the team was either not old enough or just barely old enough to drink or gamble. Las Vegas without alcohol and gambling is like a basketball game where all the players have no arms. Pretty pointless, huh? But I'm actually excited for this one." He rattles off.  
"Really? Must be pretty sweet. What's the deal?"  
"The winning team gets free tickets, for everyone, to a Michael Jackson concert!" He screams quietly.  
"A who-"  
"BUT WAIT, that's not it, the V.I.P. of the game gets to meet him in person! I sound so dumb and starstruck but seriously, what the hell?! I never thought there would be something worth winning other than pride and a stupid trophy."  
"Sorry to be the one living under a rock but who the hell is Michael Jackson? That, and don't talk down the trophy, it's worth more in what it means than what it's made of." As soon as I finish coach laughs histerically.  
"HAHAHAHA, did you seriously ask me who Michael Jackson is?! You're hilarious." He says, still laughing.  
"Yes I did seriously just ask you, who the hell is he? What are you do psyched about anyways, no matter who it is, he's just a normal human like you or me. That, and I'm sure his concerts aren't THAT fantastic." I reply, feeling annoyed.  
"Wow.. You're totally serious. I can't believe this.. Yes, actually his concerts are fantastic, they're breathtaking actually. A majority of people who go to them faint as soon as the man steps onto the stage. His aura is really that powerful."  
"Oh haha, as if someone would really faint just at the sight of someone. We're all people."  
"No, Jackson isn't just a person. He's not as ordinary as you're trying to make him sound. The girls that go to his shows faint so often, that they actually have four or five tents to put them in until they wake up and I'm talking no shit to you." He says seriously. This is ridiculous.  
"Are you shitting me?"  
"I'm serious. Go ask anyone who has a life."  
"Excuse me? I have a life!" I yell, starting to really get peeved.  
"Yeah, breathe, eat, drink, basketball, sleep. Admit it man, you live a damn routine." I sighed, he has a point.  
"Alright, that's true. But I do have a life, I just don't really care about music." I replied honestly.  
"Okay the game is going to start in roughly a minute, so hurry up and do what you need to do: WIN. THIS. GAME." He says, yelling on the last part.  
I nod, run to my teammates to talk about the plan and someone asks something that just about makes me lose it.  
"Did you hear about the prize?!? An MJ concert ticket, I am so psyched!"  
"Yeah we have to win this freaking game or I swear.."  
"That's awesome and all but we all know who's going to get the backstage pass to meet him."  
They all turned to look at me, and I simply gave them the look. The look that says 'shut up and concentrate on the game, this is a basketball game not a casual chat in the locker rooms'. They caught my drift and nodded. We covered the plans, and the rest of the game went smoothly. We won by a long-shot, and it was time to announce the V.I.P., and to be honest I wish it wasn't me because I'm sure it would make someone else's day to meet this Michael Jackson guy when to me it's just yet another thing I have to add to my to-do list. The speakers static and screech a little before they make the announcement.


	4. Ashley

**Chapter Three: Ashley**

"The winning team of course, is Chatham High!," everyone claps and cheers, "The V.I.P. on this team is Dean Ashley Pruitt!" I gasped, who in the hell signed me up with my middle name too!? Everyone looked at me and started laughing.  
"Ashley? HAHAHAHAA! We HAVE to call you Ashley now! Whaddaya say g-"  
"My middle name isn't Ashley, you dumbass. It's Ashton." I lied, sounding completely serious. Ashton? Oh well.  
"Ashton? Ugh, that's no fun. But at least we don't have a girl on our team." For some reason, that statement pissed me off.  
"Excuse me..?" I ask, starting to get an attitude. It's on.  
"I said, 'but at least we-"  
"I know what you said, stupid. I'm saying that girls can play just as well as boys."  
"HAHAHA, you're funny Dean. Why the hell would you say something ridiculous like that? You have a girlfriend who can play ball? She better than you? HA! What a joke. Girls are just a joke." He says snobbishly, now I'm REALLY pissed.  
"Listen man, don't piss me off. I will blow my top and beat the shit out of you."  
"Pff, you can't do anything to me. You're like, what, 5 feet tall?" He retorted.  
"If I can beat up a 350 pound man who used to be a professional wrestler, I sure as hell can beat up a 100 pound man who can barely throw a basketball across the court." I smiled, if arguing was a job, I'd be a millionaire.  
"I," he paused, now he's speechless, "You know what? Let's drop it."  
"You're boring, I can't have a decent argument with anyone around here. I just get started and then they give up."  
"There's no arguement, girls are just weak and stupid, and boys are strong and smart. It's just how things are. Girls are here for our entertainment and that is that."  
"What the FUCK did you just say?" I yell, reaching a higher octave.  
"I said what I mean, and I meant what I said."  
"Yeah? Well there's one advantage that girls have over guys." I say, shuffling my feet.  
"Oh really? What?"  
"When you're a girl, it don't hurt when someone does THIS." I yell, kicking him straight in the crotch. He cries out and falls to the ground, looking totally pathetic.  
"It would probably hurt worse if you actually had balls." I say before walking away. Suddenly, he stands back up and grabs me by the shoulder, flinging me towards the benches. I stumbled a little, and started walking faster towards him. It's a fight now. He laughs then kicks me in the crotch, and I just smile. This is why being a girl is so great. He just stares at me as if I just finished walking on water.  
"H-How the hell are you still standing?" He asks, totally awestruck.  
"How the hell are you so surprised? All you did was kick me between the legs. One, it didn't hurt, and two, you kick like a 2 year old."  
"Woah woah woah, wait.." I bite my lip, I think he's finally piecing the puzzle together.  
"Dean, dude, are you a.. A chick?" He just looks at me up and down, confused.  
"Depends, what would you do if I said yes?"  
"Well I would.. Well I can't tell coach or he'll kick you off the team.. And I can't really tell anyone else.. 'Cause they might tell coach, and he'll kick you off the team. We can't afford to lose our best player, I know that. So..?"  
"Let's simply leave it at this," I say quietly, I drop my disguised voice and in my girly voice I say seductively, "It'll be our little secret." and I walk away, grinning. He stands there a few moments before running after me.  
"Hey hey hey I have more questions now, Dean! That bringing me to my first question, what's your real name then? And also, is your middle name actually Ashley then?" He says so quickly I can barely understand him.  
"Slow down buckaroo. My name is Wilmadeen, but everyone calls me Deenie. Yes, my middle name is Ashley. Next question, or questions, please."  
"Okay.. Well how are you a girl? I mean.. Dude, you don't.. No offense, even look like a girl."  
"Well duh, if I allowed myself to look girly, then how would I pass for a dude?"  
"How do you do it, though?" I sighed, knowing I'd need to give him a lengthy explaination to satisfy him.  
"It's real easy. I keep my hair real short, and put my bangs in my face, and I always wear a boyish hat. I wear loose shirts so you can't see.." I paused, starting to get embarrassed.  
"Oh.. Yeah, go on."  
"Yeah.. And I don't wear any makeup, either. My face is kinda plain, so there's nothing girly about it unless I let it get that way."  
"Ohh.. Well, can I see you as a girl?" He whispers.  
"What? You see me as a girl right now."  
"No, I mean all girled-up. You got me curious now." I looked at him strangely. I see what he's getting at.  
"My house tonight at 8PM." I say lowly, hoping no one would hear.  
"Right. Be girly and stuff, kay?" He asks, sounding pretty dumb. I just nodded and walked on. Back to the car with dad..  
I walked through the lot, reaching the parking space that we always park in. It's kind of like having a table at a restaraunt that you go to often. I get in the car, smirk at dad to let him know we won, and close the door hard.  
"What'd you win?"  
"What did I- Oh. Well our team won tickets to some concert, and the guy who is doing the concert, the V.I.P. gets to meet him and that would be me."  
"Well what concert? Whose performing?"  
"Uhh.. Michael uhh.. Jenkon.. Nonono.. Jack.. Jackson! Michael Jackson." He looked at me funny. "I don't know who he is."  
"Huh.. I've heard a few of his songs. There's this one, in '83 that was on the radio. It's uhh.. Billie somethin'. It was some song about a girl who came to him saying her kid was his, appearently it wasn't. The girl's name was Billie.." He stops talking and begins humming a familiar tune, "Jean! Billie Jean, that's it." I simply nodded uninterestingly and turned my head to look out the window.  
We start to move, then we get out of the lot and start to drive. Today is a beautiful day. It's close to 6PM now, and the sun is just beginning to set. The sky is a beautiful mix of light pink, pale orange, butter yellow, and grey-blue. There weren't any clouds all day today, and it was amazing. My two favorite times of the day are dawn and dusk. It sounds dumb but everything is at it's peek of beauty at those times, being why I love them so much. I sighed softly, watching the sun go down as we pull into our driveway. I rush out of the car and toss my things onto my bed.  
arefully, I close the door and lock it, opening my window. I grasp the sides of it and hoist myself onto the rooftop to watch the sunset. The sun was just reaching the horizon, preparing to transition the day into the night. Dusk.. It's so magical. I climb back down, the sun isn't going to really set for roughly 20 minutes. I needed to girl myself up for Marc Yeah, Marcus, also known as Marc, is the guy I was talking to earlier. He's eh. His looks? I would say by lack of a better comparison, he looks like Robert Plant mixed with Eric Clapton.. He doesn't have the mustache but he's certainly working on it. His hair was about to his chin, and wavy. It's a dirty blonde color, with a few natural highlights of a golden brown color, kinda like bronze. However, his skin was pale, and freckled. He was different to say the least, but hey he's not the worst I've seen.  
close my window for now. The breeze stops flowing in, and now I know what I have to do. I have to get girly.

* * *

This is dedicated to one of my best friends, Ashley.


	5. All Girled Up

**Chapter Four: All Girled-Up**

I threw my shirt off, watching it fall quietly to the floor. I slid my pants off, throwing them and my shoes, which were still tied, across the room. I shuffled impatiently through my drawers, looking for something girly and to no surprise- I found nothing. My sister takes turns staying at this house and her real dad's house. She's super girly, and we wear about the same size of everything. I quietly, wrapped in a blanket, sneak into her room across the hall and search through her drawers. I found a white lacy bra, my size ironically, a pink tank top with an off-white lace at the top and bottom with buttons in the middle and a bow across the chest, and a pair of pale blue shorts that frayed at the bottom. I fold them over my arm, and slide on the edges of the blanket around me back to my room, dropping the blanket at my door. Closing the door behind me and locking it, I rush into the bathroom, I haven't shaved my legs in almost a week. Quickly I turn the water on and fumble around under the sink until I find a new razor. The water is warm, so I let it do it's thing. The tub fills in no time at all. I turn the water off, strip off my clothes and slip into the inviting bathtub. The hot water feels so nice.  
I wash my hair first, until it squeaks and shines, then I shave my legs and underarms until they're as smooth as they'll ever be and wash the rest of my body. I hop out of the tub and the cold air hits my skin, giving me goosepimples. I shiver a little and dry off with my favorite aqua blue towel. I wrap my shoulder-length blonde hair into the towel and reach under the sink to get some lotion when I see an old radio shoved way back. I pull them both out, plug in the radio and tune it to a station that doesn't just sound like "askjdnkjwreiunjkfgnksjdnkgjfg". Then I hear a familar song.. It's the tune of what dad was humming in the car. I turn it up and listen to the lyrics while I try and figure how to put on this push-up bra. It's confusing, believe me. I finally get it on and start pulling on my shorts as quietly as I can so I can hear the music which is extremely catchy. After a few moments I catch on to the chorus and start singing along.  
"Billie Jean is not my lover, she's just a girl who says that I am the one, but the kid is not my son." I giggle at the lyrics, what kind of girl is named Billie Jean? Then again, what kind of girl is named Wilmadeene? I apply the baby lotion to my legs, arms, and hands. I'm fully dressed now and I fling the towel off my hair. My bangs were hanging low in my eyes, now. I had to comb them to the side, and since my sister and I sometimes share a bathroom, all her girly supplies were right there just calling my name. Using a pink heart shaped barrette, I clipped my bangs to the side and brushed out the rest of my hair which was starting to curl. I let it be, a few curls can't be so different from how I always wear my hair- straight and up. I left my hair down and my hat sat atop the toilet seat. It looked so lonely. I just frowned at it and turned back to the mirror.  
"Sorry little buddy, I have to be girly tonight." I say towards my hat. I think it understands.  
I looked at the picture of the girl's eyes on the eyeshadow packaging and mimicked it with a bronze-ish gold color shadow. I, just because of my hatred of huge eyebrows, already tweezed my eyebrows the day before so I don't have to worry about them. I lined the bottom of my eyes with a magenta liner. Billie Jean is over now, and another song starts playing. I don't know it, so I turn the volume down. After a few seconds the song starts to get annoying. To avoid getting it stuck in my head, I turn to another station and I get this stupid look on my face, as I can see in the mirror. I hear a beat that I swear I know, and then I hear that song again. That Billie Jean one. He really must be popular then. Marc was right. I turn it up and sing along again. Getting back to the makeup, I carefully apply some glossy pink lipgloss and look into the mirror, fluffing my curly hair here and there. I look at the girl staring back at me. I don't know who she is. Oh the magic and wonderment of make up. Just as Billie Jean ends, I hurry out of the bathroom and look for my white converse. Yeah. Converse. The only things I currently own. I found them and set them on my bed. I need socks. I put on some white ankle socks- yes I wear white socks, sue me- and my now off-white converse, lacing them up to a few inches above my ankles.  
Now I was a girl. Looking at my room, it looked like a tornado had just touched down in here. Shoving a few things under my bed, and putting clothes back in their drawers, I made my bed and straightened out my bookshelves. I swear I could run a fully operating library with all the books I own. My beanbag chair was slouching and flat looking, so I poofed it up, making it look invitingly squishy. I looked around at my room. It was quite.. Uhh, well, different.  
Picture this, the curtains, which by the way block little to no sun, are a bright orange. The carpet is blue, and there's a large rug under my bed which is like a big rainbow circle. There's my bookshelves, which are mismatching shades of wood, stacked up along the wall opposite the wall where the window is. My bed is an array of colors and it faces the door, the end of the bed towards the door and the headboard against the wall. Speaking of walls, my walls are two colors. The wall that my bed is on is a bright blue, and the other walls are lime green. I have a few sports posters here and there, and a board of pictures of my family. The wall that my bed is on has "Deenie" written across it in a yellowish orange color, just above my headboard. Yeah. That's my room for ya. Pretty weird, huh? Then I hear a knock on the door downstairs and I whip my head around to look at the clock. It reads 7:58PM. I hear dad talking and I can't really understand him. Marc's voice is talking now, he says something like "I'm Deenie's friend from school." I think. Then dad says something that I can't quite understand. It's either, "Deenie's upstairs in her room." or "Deenie eats hair in her gloom.", though I'm shooting for the first one. I grab a book and sit on the edge of my bed, waiting for Marc to come in.  
I can't wait to see the look on his face, it will be totally priceless. If only I had a camera. I hear someone coming up the stairs and try to keep a straight face. The door opens and a shocked Marc stands out in the hallway, staring at me.


	6. It's a Girl!

**Chapter Five: It's A Girl!**

I looked up at Marc from my book and he blinks and stares a few times. I look at him, raising my eyebrow, and wait for him to say something. He clears his throat then starts fumbling with words, I'm assuming he's trying to talk.  
"I-I'm sorry, I thought this was Deenie's room. Uh, could you.. Uhh, tell me where Deenie is?" He asks, I just laugh.  
"You wanna know where Deenie is?"  
"Yes please."  
"Okay well take about 5 steps forward, and there she is." I replied, giggling.  
"Woah, DEENIE?! I can't believe my eyes, you're kidding! You can't be the same guy-well, girl- who comes to the basketball games and goes by Dean. You just can't. I mean.. You're.. You're a girl!"  
"Do you know how stupid you sound right now?" I laugh again.  
"I just.. Damn! You.." He trails off into quiet mumbling as I set my book down and stand up.  
"Sorry hun, couldn't hear that. You're gonna have to talk louder."  
"Just wow. Deenie.. You're.. Like.."  
I sighed, "I'm a girl, I know."  
"No, I mean, you're not just a girl. You're like, a hot girl." He replied, checking me out. I smile and strike a pose.  
"Vogue." I say, making both of us laugh.  
"Hmm.. You're Dean alright but.. This is going to take some getting used to. So, I've never been to your room. What's it like?"  
"Well.. Take a look around Marc. I have nothing to hide."  
Looking at my posters, he smiled with a knowing look that told me he has the same ones. He got around to my bookshelf.  
"Bookworm, are we?"  
"Yeah.. I have to admit, I do love books." I say shyly, hoping he doesn't think I'm a nerd.  
"Sweet." He says flatly, sitting in the purple beanbag chair.  
"Hey."  
"Huh?"  
"About our conversation earlier, do you take back what you said 'bout girls? 'Cause you know, I'm a girl and I can totally wipe the floor with you in pretty much every sport known to man."  
"Well.. You're different though Deenie. You're the only girl I know who doesn't shout 'TOUCHDOWN!' at a basketball game when I make a shot. You're just.. Awesome."  
"Aww thanks," I start laughing, "But what girl shouted touchdown at one of your games?"  
"Oh.. This girl I dated a while back, Patricia Martin."  
"Oh Perky Pat? Yeah. She's a character, that's for sure."  
"I'll say." He replies, and we both just laugh.  
It stays quiet for a while and we both just sit there in the awkward silence. I want it to end really badly, I hate silence so much. There HAS to be something to talk about.. Oh!  
"Hey, Marc."  
"Mhmm?"  
"Do you know anything about Michael Jackson? Everyone's talking about him, and the only song I know is Billie Jean because it came on the radio twice."  
"Woah really? I know pretty much all of his songs. I would sing them for you, but I can't sing at all."  
"Oh, haha, me neither. I do write songs, though."  
"That's awesome! Can I hear one? I don't care if you can't sing good. You can better than me for sure."  
"Must I?"  
"Yes! Please Deenie? I've never heard you sing before."  
"Alright fine, buttmunch." Both of us laugh, and I reach down under my bed to get my notebook.  
"That's where you write your songs? Can I pick one?"  
"Yes, and.. I guess so." I reluctantly hand him the notebook and watch him flip through the pages.  
"This one sounds cool, Come In With The Rain."  
"Oh that.. I don't know it's kind of sad."  
"I don't mind."  
"Okay.." I sighed. Why me? "Well promise not to laugh at my voice.."  
"I promise. Cross my heart hope for pie."  
"Haha, it's hope to die, ya moron."  
"I know, but I prefer pie to death a million to one."  
"Me too!" We both giggle a little, and I get up to get my guitar out of the closet. It's acoustic.  
"You play guitar? Is there ANYTHING you can't do?"  
"Yeah.. I can't be myself."  
"What do you mean by that."  
"You're the only person is going to hear me sing. Nobody else even knows I write music, or that I own a guitar."  
"Wow, I'm special!" He says smiling. I smile back at him, and start playing a few chords. I take a deep breath and start to sing.  
"I could go back to every laugh,  
But I don't want to go there anymore and I  
know all the steps up to your door,  
But I don't want to go there anymore.  
Talk to the wind, talk to the sky.  
Talk to the man with the reasons why.  
And let me know what you find..

I'll leave my window open,  
Cause I'm too tired tonight  
to call your name.  
Just know I'm right here hoping  
You'll come in with the rain.

I could stand up and sing you a song,  
But I don't want to have to go that far and I  
I've got you down, I know you by heart,  
And you don't even know where I start.  
Talk to yourself, talk to the tears.  
Talk to the man who put you here.  
Don't wait for the sky to clear..

I'll leave my window open,  
Cause I'm too tired tonight  
to call your name.  
Just know I'm right here hoping  
You'll come in with the rain.

I've watched you so long,  
screamed your name,  
I don't know what else  
I can say.

But I'll leave my window open,  
Cause I'm too tired tonight  
for all these games.  
Just know I'm right here hoping  
You'll come in with the rain.

I could go back to every laugh,  
But I don't want to go there  
anymore.. "


	7. Deeper Than I Thought

**Chapter Six: Deeper Than I Thought**

I just waited for his reaction, and looked up at him shyly. His face was a mix between happy and surprised. I licked my lips, feeling them getting dry, and set my guitar down on the bed.  
"Wow.. Deenie.. That was really good. Your voice is beautiful. What's that song about?"  
"Oh.. Thank you.. I wrote it for my father." I appeased.  
"Okay, let me reread the lyrics now that I know that.." I waited as his eyes skimmed the pages, left, right, left, right, left, right, left.. He closed the notebook and handed it to me, smiling.  
"You're an amazing singer, guitarist, songwriter, basketball player, and you're beautiful. That, and you're super strong, mentally and physically.. I don't know how you do it." He gushed. I start blushing and look down to my feet, which are kicking the bed, up and down, each leg moving an opposite direction.  
"I don't think I'm anything special. I was always told that I'm not." I confessed quietly.  
"You are though.. Deenie?"  
"H-huh?"  
"I never thought I'd say this before but," he took a deep breath, "Deenie will you go out with me?"  
I gasped. "Really? I've never had a date before, though."  
"That's okay, will you though?"  
"Oh uh.. Sure? But.. But I don't know how to do anything."  
"I don't mind, I could teach you." He replied, sitting next to me on the bed. He put his arm around me and tried to kiss me.  
"Woah woah woah, hold up now! I said I'd go out with you, sort of, then three seconds later you try to suck my face!" I yell, pushing him away. He's moving WAY too fast. I'm regretting partially saying yes already.  
"Sorry.. Every other girl I've been with kissed me as soon as I asked them out. You didn't so I thought I had to."  
"Marc, the most you will ever get out of me is a hug." I retorted.  
"Well then we aren't even going out if we don't kiss."  
"I just said 'sure' as a spur of the moment. I know the only reason you even asked me is because you think I'm pretty."  
"No that's not true, I listened to your song and stuff."  
"If I looked like Megan Morrow at school, but everything else was the same would you ask me?"  
"Well.."  
"No, you wouldn't, I knew it!" I sneered, giving him a mean look.  
"You're not nearly as pretty with that look on your face." He mused, grinning at me.  
"I don't care! The only reason I even went through all this trouble is because you asked me to! So if you don't like it, I'll wipe it all off! Screw that!"  
"Wait! Don't do that!"  
"No I won't wait, and yes I'm going to do just that. And Marc.. Though it lasted all of 2 minutes, I'm breaking up with you. You're so.. Weird. You know what? I don't consider you my first boyfriend." I babbled angrily.  
"You were just fine until I tried to kiss you!" He responded, sounding confused.  
"Well remember what you said, and I quote, 'I'm different', and I am. I'm not like other girls."  
"It's not even a big deal, you kiss your dad all the time!"  
"Do I?"  
".." He paused, then thought about what he said. A little late aren't we?  
"No. I don't. I haven't kissed my dad since I was like 3. Next time think before you say something stupid. Just leave Marc. Please. We'll both pretend this never even happened."  
"Deenie, I'm sorry-"  
"You're not sorry! And you don't have to call anymore, I won't pick up the phone! This is the last straw, I don't wanna hurt anymore."  
"No really I'm sorry please forgive me-"  
"You can tell me that you're sorry but I don't believe you like I did before. You're not sorry."  
He just nodded sadly, and left the room. I yelled after him to close the door, he did, and then I heard dad and him talk for roughly 20 seconds before the door downstairs closed. I look out my window, it's really dark outside and all the stars are out, no clouds. Marc is getting in his ugly old Slug Bug, and driving away. I leave the window to lock my door. A quietly as I can manage, I climb out my window and on to the roof. I make my way very slowly to the flattest part of our roof, which is just above where the attic is. I keep a plastic tub of blankets up there. I open the tub and pull out one of my favorite quilts. It's a beautiful midnight blue color, and the patches are all different pictures of the moon from various fabrics. Then at the bottom is an embroided "Deenie's Quilt" in white. My grandma gave this to me when I was just 6 years old and I've had it since then. I set it next to me, then pull out a purple fleece blanket. I spread the fleece over the flat part of the roof, then lay down my quilt over it. I flatten the wrinkles, then lay down on it, resting my chin on my folded arms. The sky is a beautiful, dark, indigo towards the horizon and a navy blue everywhere else. The stars are shining very brightly tonight, it's so pretty. It's like someone sprinkled diamonds across the night sky. I close my eyes and start thinking.  
I allow my mind to wonder, and it goes through a few subjects. My song, my guitar, my dad, my mom(or at least the hollow shell of her), my radio, that song Billie Jean, and it stopped at Michael Jackson again. I thought about what little I knew about him. His name sounds kind of like a black name, so he's probably black then. I tried to imagine what he looked like, and it's very hard! I thought about his voice, a typical man's voice is deep and stupid and annoying.. Like Marc's, and my dad's. But his voice is lighter and softer. I thought about it more and more, he can reach really high notes without changing to falsetto, which took me ages to master. Slowly my mind fades off into spacing out again. It's starting to get cold now, and I pull out a few more blankets, laying them over me. I fall asleep that way, on the roof.


	8. The Break of Dawn

**Chapter Seven: The Break of Dawn**

I rubbed my eyes and looked up, the sun was so bright I could barely see even when I squinted. I looked around, I was still on the roof. Then it occured to me that I fell asleep there last night. I sat up, and waited for a rush of back pain to hit me.. Nothing. I smiled, I don't need an alarm clock after all. I put all the blankets and my quilt away, closing the tub. I slid down the slanted part of the roof and into my room. The clock read 5:03AM. I go into my bathroom and look in the mirror. I'm still girly from yesterday.. I redo my eyeshadow and liner and brush out my hair over again. Maybe I should be girly at school today just to piss Marc off. That would be fun! I tip-toed to my sister's room and pulled out more girly clothes. A turqoise tank top, and an off white tank top with inch thick lace straps, and dark wash tight jeans. I just get changed in her room, and throw yesterday's clothes in her hamper. I look through her shoes and find white furr boots. I slip them on, perfect fit!  
Hastily I tip-toe-ran down the stairs to get the lunch money mom left on the counter, and I wrote a note to my parents telling them I'd be riding the bus today. I put on my jacket and backpack, and scurried out the door. I sat there on the bench by the bus stop. I took out my notebook and began thinking. My thoughts drifted to the last words with Marc yesterday..  
"It's not even a big deal, you kiss your dad all the time!"  
"Do I?"  
".." He paused, then thought about what he said. A little late aren't we?  
"No. I don't. I haven't kissed my dad since I was like 3. Next time think before you say something stupid. Just leave Marc. Please. We'll both pretend this never even happened."  
"Deenie, I'm sorry-"  
"You're not sorry! And you don't have to call anymore, I won't pick up the phone! This is the last straw, I don't wanna hurt anymore."  
"No really I'm sorry please forgive me-"  
"You can tell me that you're sorry but I don't believe you like I did before. You're not sorry."  
What I said began to sound like sound lyrics, and I hummed up a few different melodies before choosing one. I started writing down ideas for the chorus using last night's dialogue.  
But you dont have to call anymore,  
I wont pick up the phone.  
This is the last straw.  
Don't wanna hurt anymore.  
And you can tell me that you're sorry,  
But I don't believe you baby  
Like I did before.  
You're not sorry.  
I smiled at the lyrics, the chorus is, aside from a few words, composed of what I said. Who would've known? I started humming, and closed my eyes. I was really getting into it, I can really feel this song. I continued humming the rest of the melody that I planned until I was interrupted.  
"Whatcha hummin' there?" Someone asked in a gentle, motherly voice. I looked up to see a girl at school I'd seen before.  
"A song I'm writing." I replied simply.  
"You write music too?" She asks, smiling.  
"Yeah.. Too? You write music?"  
"Oh all the time.. It's like my escape. If something important happens, I write a song about it."  
"Me too!" I smiled, with my teeth this time. She sat next to me on the bench.  
"What's your name?"  
"Dea- Wilmadeen. But everybody just calls me Deenie."  
"Deenie, I love that name! Mine is Josey Leigh, known as Jo."  
"Jo? That's a cool name."  
"Thanks, I like it too. Can I see what you have so far in your song?"  
I hesitate for a second, then give in. "Yeah.. Sure, here." I say, handing her the notebook. She looks at it for a few moments before handing it back. She starts humming something really close to what I was humming earlier. She stumbles on a certain part and I hum over it to correct her.  
"What a powerful song.. Sounds like a conversation I'd have with a boyfriend after breaking up with him."  
"Yeah.. That's why I wrote it, well, sort of."  
"Oh, what's his name?"  
"Marcus." I growled lowly. Just thinking of him makes me angry now.  
"Ah, I won't ask anymore. I'm not one to salt wounds. So, can you sing what lyrics go to which melodies?"  
"Oh yeah, but I only have a little."  
"Don't hesitate, anything is still something."  
I took a few deep breaths before singing for Jo, clearing my throat twice.  
"All this time I was wasting,  
Hoping you would come around,  
I've been giving out chances every time  
And all you do is let me down.  
And its taken me this long  
Baby but I figured you out.  
And youre thinking well be fine again,  
But not this time around," I stop singing and inform her, "This is where that humming comes in.", then continued on.  
"I wont pick up the phone.  
This is the last straw.  
Don't wanna hurt anymore.  
And you can tell me that you're sorry,  
But I don't believe you baby  
Like I did before.  
You're not sorry.  
No, woah oh,  
You're not sorry.  
No woah oh.."  
She looked at me funny, and smiled with a knowing look in her eyes. She's clearly dealt with a boy's crap before.  
"That's certainly a break-up song."  
"Mhmm.. I've been trying to guess this but I can't decide.. How old are you, Jo?"  
"Oh! I'm 19, and you?"  
"18 and three quarters. I can't believe you're only a little bit older than me, we look so different!"  
She laughs a little, "Is that a compliment or an insult?" she inquires.  
"No no, it's a compliment. You look like a mom, in a good way, and you sound like one too. Cause your voice is really soft, and gentle. It's pretty... Hey since you write songs, do you sing too?"  
"Aw thanks, I get that a lot. That motherly thing. And eh.. I sing, if that's what you the dastardly noise that escapes my throat."  
"Can I hear you sing? One of your songs? I mean, if you have them with you?"  
"Yeah.. Yeah. Sure. I have my notebook here in my purse," she takes out a small 3 ring binded mini-book, "Let me pick one."  
"Okay.. I bet you sing beautifully. Your talking voice is so pretty that you must be able to sing too."  
"Nah, not really. But I found one I wrote a long while back. Here, and I'll sing it." She says, passing me her lyrics.  
"Go when you're ready." I informed her, carefully scanning each word on the page.  
"Comparisons are easily done  
Once you've had a taste of perfection  
Like an apple hanging from a tree  
I picked the ripest one, I still got the seed

You said move on, where do I go?  
I guess second best is all I will know

'Cause when I'm with him I am thinking of you  
(Thinking of you, thinking of you)  
Thinking of you, what you would do  
If you were the one who was spending the night  
(Spending the night, spending the night)  
Oh, I wish that I was looking into your eyes

You're like an Indian summer in the middle of winter  
Like a hard candy with a surprise center  
How do I get better once I've had the best?  
You said there's tons of fish in the water, so the waters I will test

He kissed my lips, I taste your mouth, oh!  
(Taste your mouth)  
He pulled me in, I was disgusted with myself

'Cause when I'm with him I am thinking of you  
(Thinking of you, thinking of you)  
Thinking of you, what you would do  
If you were the one who was spending the night  
(Spending the night, spending the night)  
Oh, I wish that I was looking into

You're the best, and yes, I do regret  
How I could let myself let you go  
Now, now the lesson's learned  
I touched it, I was burned  
Oh, I think you should know!

'Cause when I'm with him I am thinking of you  
(Thinking of you, thinking of you)  
Thinking of you, what you would do  
If you were the one who was spending the night  
(Spending the night, spending the night)  
Oh, I wish that I was looking into your, your eyes  
Looking into your eyes, looking into your eyes

Oh, won't you walk through?  
And bust in the door and take me away?  
Oh, no more mistakes  
'Cause in your eyes I'd like to stay, stay"  
I paused for a moment. She has a totally gorgeous voice as I knew she would. Her eyes were on the ground, just drifting off into thought. I gazed into her eyes, they were a pretty shade of brown with speckles of red and hazel. I started to observe her. Her hair is a nice auburn color, a few inches past her shoulders, and her skin is a china doll porcelain. Her long, dark, lashes framed her eyes and her haircut framed her face. She had perfectly tweezed eyebrows, and a girly shade of light pink about her lips. She's very pretty, and that's putting it lightly. Her body type is curvy, her chest is much bigger than mine, but our hips are probably close to even. She's wearing a navy blue cami under a white sweater and acid-wash jeans with the same kind of converse that I have, the off-white kind.  
She looked up to me and our eyes met.  
"What did you think?"  
"That's a really sad song.. I can relate to it a little bit, but I can totally understand it. You have a lovely voice."  
"Oh.. Thanks, babe. That's great to hear from someone new."  
"Yeah.. Do you go to LLCC?"  
"Uh huh, how did you know? Lucky guess?"  
"I go there too."  
"Oh you do? I haven't seen you before."  
"Yeah. Do you know a kid named Dean in the sophomore year?"  
"Oh yes, Dean. He's kinda short for a guy, but hey he can't help it."  
"Uh huh.. That's me."  
"What? Dean is a boy, you're clearly a girl, what's this nonsense you're throwing at me?" She asks, laughing.  
"Dean, Deenie, see what I mean? I really love basketball, but they won't let girls on the team. So I have kind of this like.. Alter ego thing going on. Marc, I "broke up" with him yesterday and I want to piss him off so I'm dressing all pretty to rub it in his face. Do you get where I'm coming from?"  
"Yeah Deenie. I see what you're gettin' at." She smiles and winks at me.  
I realise it's been more than an hour of us just sitting and talking. Just as I was wondering about it, the bus arrives on que and both Jo and I get on.


End file.
